CHAPTER THREE
A horrible pounding in her head was the first thing Jezzie became aware of. The second was when she attempted to bring her hands up to her temples, she couldn't move them.
Wait…why couldn't she move her hands?
Slowly, she forced her eyes open, wincing as even that small effort worsened the throbbing in her head which hung limply forward. It bobbed slightly as she tried to raise her gaze to her surroundings, her stiff and weak neck indicating it had been in that position for much too long. When she finally lifted her head, she was able to see her prison; a dimly lit, concrete room. There were no windows, and the door in front of her seemed to be the only way in or out of the room. Ropes bound her hands and feet to a rickety, wooden chair.
What. The. Fuck.
Panic began welling up inside her, and despite her headache she aggressively shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut in fierce denial.
Thisisn'trealthisisn'trealthisisn'trealthisisn'treal.
When she opened them to find she was still in the same spot, a small cry erupted from her throat.
OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.
Adrenaline offered some momentary pain relief, and she took the opportunity to start wriggling around, earning some very red and raw burns where the ropes met her flesh. Trying to curb the rising panic, she began rocking from side to side, convinced the dilapidated chair would smash apart when it fell, and she could make a run for it.
The chair didn't break, but it sure felt like her head did when it cracked against the concrete floor, reminding her very violently that her head was still throbbing.
Had she been able to observe her responses from a third person's perspective, Jezzie would have been fascinated. Her reactions were coming wildly close to mimicking the five stages of grief; denial, bargaining, anger, depression, and finally…acceptance.
Currently, Jezzie was working her way through stage three.
"What the fuck do you want from me?" She screamed the words into the ground, and though the concrete scraping against her face was far from pleasant, it was nothing compared to the pain in her skull, the pulsating of which was slowly pushing her closer and closer to what felt like insanity.
"You cocksucking cowards! Whatever you're gonna do just fucking do it! I don't even care anymore just get it over with!" She didn't want to die. Truly, she didn't. But the pain…it was just…so agonizing. She couldn't think straight. She couldn't think at all without her brain throbbing from the activity.
Jezzie's physical pain tolerance had never been good. This was definitely pushing her limits.
Eventually, her frenzied screams dissolved into hysterical sobs. She was going to die, and it was all her fault. Her father would be left alone, all because of her. He may never even find out what happened, he might not even find her body…
Those thoughts only fueled her despair. Snot and drool poured from her face, which was screwed up tightly as she wailed. Drowning in a mixture of anger, sadness and guilt, Jezzie's shoulders violently heaved, even when her dehydrated body had no more fluid to cry. By the time she finally stilled, her exhaustion was so strong, even the pounding in her head couldn't rouse a reaction.
At least…at least she'd see her mom again. Even if her death was horrible, the afterlife would surely be pleasant.
Had she been of omnipresent mind, the speed at which Jezzie made it all the way to acceptance would have fascinated her. Even moreso she would have been intrigued by the fact that despite her lack of religious belief, she so quickly found comfort in the sudden knowledge that her mother was waiting for her on the other side.
By the time the door opened, Jezzie's lips were cracked and peeling, and the agonized delirium she'd entered had her temporarily doubting whether or not people had actually entered the room.
Something wet shot into her face, causing her to splutter. When she found herself roughly righted, a terrible wave of nausea overtook her, and she vomited the remaining fluids her body contained onto the floor, leaning heavily over the right arm of the chair.
A vague thought popped up in the back of her spinning mind, unhelpfully worrying that she could have a concussion. Lovely.
"Oh for fucks sake." Though she attempted to open her eyes to see who spoke, the dried crust that had formed from her tears kept them practically glued shut, and she felt herself get sprayed again.
"Fuck her! If she chokes on puke that ain't our problem."
"Shut your mouth . If she dies, we're gonna be the ones he blames. You wanna play with him when he gets bored?"
Softened by the impromptu face wash, the crust sealing Jezzie's eyes weakened and she was able to pry them open. Despite her almost overwhelming dizziness, she was able to make out two large, white men, one holding what looked like a hamster water bottle.
"Not sure what he finds so entertaining about her, filthy fucking half breed."
Jezzie bowed her head, suddenly wishing she could melt into her chair. Though not how she normally would have responded to such a statement, now it seemed pragmatic. God knows what this guy was capable of.
"Fuck cares, dipshit? Don't really matter why; he wants her, so we keep her alive till he's done with her. End of story."
Though it wasn't necessarily the allyship she preferred, it was certainly a relief to hear the man's words. Hopefully he'd keep the other guy from trying anything nefarious.
She flinched away when she felt something cold and metal hit her lip, but was quick to return when she saw it was only the hamster bottle. As degrading as it was, at that point she didn't care if she had to drink from a toilet; she just needed water, and she chugged the liquid eagerly. After one final squirt into her mouth - which Jezzie sacrificed to rinse and spit any remaining puke out of her mouth - the men left, the closing door once again leaving her to her own company.
Though her head still ached, the hydration did help marginally…enough to get her brain churning at least.
Two men at least were responsible for her. One of them already detested her, and the other seemed to genuinely not care about anything beyond what his job was. Which, by the sounds of it mainly entailed not letting their boss get bored. And as for their boss, well…it wasn't hard to imagine who that was.
Okay Jezzie…he told the other guy to shut up when he said what he did…maybe I can earn some sympathy from him? If he's willing to shoot down a racist maybe he had some sort of protective side I can exploit?
It was a futile thought, and Jezzie quickly dismissed the idea. The man hadn't acted out of some misplaced sense of nobility…he was just unwilling to do anything that would risk the Joker's boredom, let alone his wrath. He'd never cross him to help her.
As his words came back to her, Jezzie frowned. "Do you wanna play with him when he gets bored?"…"we keep her alive until he's done with her."
What does that even mean? Done what? Done…playing with me? Did…did he honestly just take me because…because…he was bored?
Jezzie shook her head. No, it had to be more than that. He'd broken out of Arkham, specifically targeted everyone involved in the events of that day, killed her only friends to lure her out, abducted her, then brought her to a place where he could keep her long term.
That was… a LOT of effort for something as simple as boredom. There had to be more to it than that.
So…what? Money? Perhaps he knew she was connected to Bruce Wayne?
No…the man robs banks. He wouldn't go through all of this trouble just to hold you ransom.
Fuck. She was missing something. She had to be.
Sadly, her brain just kept recycling the same thoughts, over and over. She was scared, hungry, thirsty again, and in an unbelievable amount of pain. Her brain just wouldn't work. Not to mention, she had developed an intense need to pee.
There were no windows. No clocks. The dim bulb above her stayed on 24/7, buzzing incessantly. Nobody came to her, even when she begged for the bathroom, and finally, face burning in anger and shame, she was forced to relieve herself in her jeans. As the smell of ammonia reached her nose, and her piss dripped onto the concrete below, she briefly began worrying about what would happen when her period showed up…
The sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts, though she barely responded. She was so weak she could barely lift her head.
As it turned out, she didn't have to. A large hand grabbed her hair, and unceremoniously yanked her head back, pouring something thick and unctuous down her throat. Almost as much as she was able to swallow ended up on her chest and lap, but she desperately gulped down whatever she managed to catch in her mouth. Though she knew eventually it would have to come back out the other side, her hunger was so great at the moment she didn't care.
Finally, the pressure on her scalp eased, and she allowed her head to flop forward again, finding no reason to waste energy holding it up. By this point, she was becoming desensitized to the agony in her neck and head. Her ass, legs and arms felt number every day. Her dizziness was still coming in waves, but thankfully her nausea had passed.
Someone cleared their throat, and she then realized she never heard the door close.
Slowly, she raised her head to the figure standing in the doorway. A very large, very purple figure.
Jezzie blinked twice, hard, not quite trusting what she was seeing. Or perhaps, just not wanting to.
Her captor grinned, and licked his painted red lips.
"Hey doll…hope thee uh, accommodations, are to your liking." He giggled maniacally for a couple seconds, before excitedly continuing.
"I've ah…got a friend for you."
Before Jezzie could even process what he said, he snapped his fingers, and the two goons from before walked in, carrying a very limp form between them. The curly, almost frizzy red hair was immediately recognizable.
"Ally!" Jezzie's voice was hoarse and scratchy, but the girl still seemed to recognize it. Despite being deposited like a sack of garbage on the floor at Joker's feet, Ally turned her face upwards, and weakly reached out to Jezzie's shoe.
"Jez…help."
Jezzie's heart was breaking. Alecia was clearly dying. Though much of the blood covering her was dry, the fresh pool gathering beneath her chest was spreading rapidly on the concrete below.
"Wha-what are you doing?! She needs help!" She looked wildly at the Joker, not yet understanding his game.
He feigned a look of horrified shock, placing a hand over his chest in concern.
"Oh! Oh dear! Well you uh, better help her then." Jezzie briefly gestured towards her bound wrists with her eyes, before his dark smirk finally made her realize.
Alecia was dying…and he was forcing her to watch.
"You-you twisted fuck! You sick- she didn't do anything! Why are you doing this?!"
The adrenaline was back, once again granting her the mercy of forgetting her not so great pain tolerance. She didn't even notice her wrists and ankles were bleeding, the friction from the rope ripping and tearing her skin.
The Joker tutted at her.
"Now now…that's uh, not a very professional response for a budding psychiatris-t." He waggled his finger at her, smirking when her eyes widened.
Jezzie screamed in frustration, and turned her attention to her dying friend.
"Al-Ally! Ally, LOOK AT ME, stay with me, keep your eyes open- Ally PLEASE!" She was fading fast. Only one of her eyes was cracked open, and the hand she'd extended to touch Jezzie's shoe was becoming limp, twitching as the life left her body. Jezzie sobbed.
"Ally…I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
And just like that, she was gone. Another death on Jezzie's shoulders, which were once more heaving in inconsolable cries. The Joker clucked his tongue.
"I think I'll uh…give you two a moment, alone-uh."
That moment, judging by the level of decomposition on her friend's body, turned out to last around three days. Long enough for Jezzie's mind to snap, the mental and physical trauma driving her past the point of normal reasoning. She'd even begun chatting to the corpse.
"Damn Ally…when's the last time you had a shower?" She wrinkled her nose in pretend disgust, then laughed.
"Ah, who am I to talk…I shit myself too!"
She shifted uncomfortably, though she was numb enough to not feel the extent of how bad her soiling was. She chuckled again.
"Remember first year, that weird kid who never showered? He-he kept trying to sell us his home-made deodorant, insisting it was better than anything we could get from the store?" She laughed again, and looked towards Ally in amusement.
Ally of course, didn't answer, but her presence was comforting none the less. Cocking her head at Ally's sunken face, Jezzie gave her a sad smile.
"You know…I never thanked you. You or, or Chris, or…JayJay. You guys…well I-I know I never really showed it, but, you guys were…honestly the best friends I've ever had. I know I didn't hang out with y'all as much as I should have, but…well. Connecting with people has always been…hard, for me. I'm better at observing rather than getting involved." Jezzie's eyes became slightly glazed, and her expression became forlorn.
"My mom died…when I was very young. She…she was my best friend, and I…I just never really was able to…to connect…after her." Though mist began to gather on her lashes, Jezzie's voice remained detached and steady.
"She took us- me… hiking, one day. She was always taking me outside, trying to you know… teach me about nature and…you know. Well, this time, I found a bug; a really pretty beetle. Prettiest one I'd ever seen." A single, fat tear spilled down her cheek. Why she felt the need to tell Ally's corpse her inner most trauma, she didn't know…but, here she was. Baring…almost…all of her secrets out to her dead friend.
"I uh…I put the beetle in my pocket. I wanted to… take it home and keep it, and I knew mom wouldn't let me…she was big on keeping things in their natural habitat…and…it…it flew out, while we were on the road…" She paused, briefly considering how odd it was that something that once felt so upsetting to her now felt so…distant. Like she was recalling someone else's memories. Her eyes remembered to cry, but…it felt like the rest of her was numb from reacting.
"There was…there was another car coming. She only closed her eyes for a second, but…she jerked the wheel by accident." Ally's milky eyes stared back at Jezzie, offering neither support, nor judgement.
"My father never blamed me. The cops never blamed me. My b-" She cut herself off, shaking her head slightly, before continuing.
"Um…n-nobody knew what I'd done. I never even told my therapist what actually happened. I should have told them the truth a long time ago but…I couldn't. " Jezzie finally looked away from her dead friend, an empty feeling in her chest.
"No matter where I go, I keep getting people killed. A trail of bodies has followed me my whole life. Fuck." She gave a humourless laugh.
"I'm a serial killer without even trying."
Other than the smell, Alecia's corpse offered nothing. Strangely, that was what began the familiar stirrings of guilt to start bubbling in her gut, albeit, significantly more muted compared to what they usually were. Nevertheless, they were enough to harden her resolve. She looked back to Alecia, a newfound fire glittering in her gaze.
"I'm sorry Ally. I'm sorry I couldn't save you…but I'll save others. I'll make sure he never does this to anyone else, ever again." She looked around, not even feeling the pain as she flexed her mangled wrists against her binds.
"Okay Ally…how are we gonna do this?" Her words were thoughtful, as if she actually was bouncing ideas off a living, breathing friend.
"They're too strong, and there are too many of them, even if it's only the three of them. At least one of them 's a racist, so obviously altruistic values are not a job requirement for the Joker…so playing the damsel won't work, and I can't likely seduced any of them."
You're covered in piss and shit anyway. Anyone willing to be seduced by you right now would have to be a real freakshow.
Jezzie exhaled in frustration.
"I can't run, I can't escape, I can't seduce…and I can't overpower. What's left, Ally?"
Though the answer did come from her own head, it came so suddenly, in Alecia's voice, that Jezzie actually jumped.
Your mind, Jez. You're obsessed with studying criminal behaviour. Use your brain.
Her brain had always been her secret weapon. She'd spent her entire life telling people exactly what they wanted to hear and manipulating emotions to get what she wanted. Running away, or using physical force, or even her body as leverage had never been necessary.
She'd dedicated her life to understanding people; why they do what they do, and what made them tick. Up until that point, it had all been passionate fascination, and minor selfish gains.
Now, it was a matter of life or death.
She had to do what so many seasoned professionals before her had failed to do.
Understand the Joker.
Great. Lovely.
Piece of fucking cake.